


The Story of James Sholto

by JustLookFrightenedAndScuttle



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Jolto, M/M, Pre-Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-09
Updated: 2015-08-09
Packaged: 2018-04-13 18:06:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,521
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4531887
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JustLookFrightenedAndScuttle/pseuds/JustLookFrightenedAndScuttle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>James Sholto reflects on his relationship with John Watson</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Story of James Sholto

**Author's Note:**

> So I thought I'd write a short Tumblr ficlet on the Jolto backstory and this happened.

It wasn't love at first sight for Major James Sholto.  
Hell, it wasn't even lust at first sight.  
When Sholto first arrived to take charge of the company in Helmand, Captain John Watson had been waiting to introduce the staff and show him around. His first impression was that Watson was an average sort of bloke, bit on the small side, pleasant manner, well liked by the soldiers under him.  
Over the next few weeks, though, Sholto found his thoughts turning to his second-in-command more often than was comfortable. His seemingly open face concealed a wickedly sharp mind -- the man was a bloody doctor as well as an officer after all -- and a sly sense of humor. He was unfailingly kind and considerate to his subordinates -- at least after the manner of soldiers, which involved an unholy amount of taking the piss and sexual innuendo -- and appropriately courteous to Sholto and any other superiors who wandered across his path.  
It seemed everyone wandered across John Watson’s path, Sholto noticed. While not assigned as a doctor -- apparently Watson had signed up as a doctor first, then became a commissioned combat officer when his first stint was up -- Watson carried a well-equipped medical pack and saw to the small hurts and illnesses of everyone who needed him. As a company commander, Sholto appreciated both the efficiency of having an in-company doctor minimize downtime and the atmosphere of cohesion that grew around Watson. The soldiers trusted him with their bodies, with their fears, with their secrets, Sholto came to understand, and he came to trust Watson’s assessment of what was really going on in the unit.  
It wasn’t until Sholto had occasion to visit Watson in the role of patient that he began to wonder why, with all the trust the unit showed John Watson, no one seemed to really know the man. All Sholto needed was a suture or two, or maybe three, having sliced his foot on a jagged rock between his quarters and the showers. He’d hobbled to John’s quarters, doing his best to keep the cut away from the dust, and was immediately let in and seated on John’s chair. He’d watched as John snapped on gloves, gently cleaned the area, speaking quietly all the while. Sholto recalled John asking what happened, suggesting that Sholto might want to wear his boots instead of shower sandals for the 20-meter walk, noting that he was assuming that as an active duty officer Sholto’s tetanus jabs were up to date. As he spoke, John administered lidocaine and opened a suture kit, putting in a line of five neat stitches and covering them with a bandage.  
“You’ll want to clean the area with peroxide twice a day to avoid infection and keep it dry,” John told him. “The sutures should dissolve in about a week. I’ll take a look at it in a couple of days to make sure it’s healing properly.”  
With that, John finished taping the gauze down and looked up from his position on the floor, and gave him a cheeky grin that made Sholto think John knew exactly why Sholto had seemed so distracted the whole time John had been kneeling in front of him.

James Sholto knew that he was going into the army even before he knew he was gay, or at least before he knew what the term “gay” meant. He knew it when he was in primary school, waiting for his father to come home on leave, hearing his grandfather tell stories of his army days. The army was in his blood, and he wanted to grow up and be worthy of it.  
It wasn’t many years later that he realized that a pretty girl did not hold the same sort of interest for him that a handsome lad did, and very shortly after that, he was given to understand that the army would not welcome someone with an unwholesome interest in men into its officer ranks. The army was his first love, he thought, and if he sometimes found release elsewhere, well, plenty of men cheated. But it wouldn’t do to cheat within the home he found in the military, so he restricted his sexual exploration to times when he was on leave and far, far off base.  
It wasn’t so many years after he accepted his commission that the army changed its rules, officially welcoming gay men and women with open arms. The transition to unofficial acceptance was smoother than many officers expected, and soon he found himself facing an uncomfortable situation: he had voluntarily stayed in the closet to protect his career, but now that he no longer had to, the men he saw on a daily basis were all his subordinates, and he could no more express a romantic or sexual interest in them than he could have before homosexuality was ruled acceptable. In the interest of leading an uncomplicated life, he continued to keep his sexuality and his military career separate. The wall between them served him well, he thought, keeping him from even thinking about the soldiers he led in a sexual way.  
Then John Watson looked up at him with his face inches from Sholto’s knees, that knowing grin crinkling his eyes, and Sholto felt the wall he had built begin to crack.  
“Help me up, sir?” John extended a hand as Sholto stood and shifted a half-step back. Sholto took it and pulled his captain to his feet, thanked him for his help and left.  
From that day on, Sholto worked to get to know John, asking why he joined the army, why he became a combat officer, again and again, in different ways, until he got past the standard non-answers that John gave most people. John liked to take care of people, and John liked it when he was good at things, Sholto discovered. But John’s family, with a broad swath of addiction running through it, resisted being taken care of, and resented John’s competence, so he joined the army to get away from them and find a place where he would be needed. Along the way, John discovered that he was a great shot and a strong leader as well as a good doctor, and discovered that he liked danger almost as much as he liked taking care of people and being good at things.  
Sholto also watched John as he interacted with people, and listened as he talked and joked with them. No doubt John was sexually experienced with women -- he was embarrassed by the “Three Continents” nickname but never denied it -- but his eyes also followed some men just a shade too closely, focused on them just a bit too long.  
Apparently, Sholto’s eyes focused on John Watson a bit too long, because it was only a few weeks later that his captain walked into his office after dinner one evening, looked him square in the eyes before letting his gaze drift down to Sholto’s mouth, then asked, “Why have you been watching me so much, sir? Are you afraid I’ll do something … inappropriate?”  
His tone made it clear exactly whom he wanted to behave inappropriately with, and Sholto felt his stomach do a flip as warmth settled in his lower abdomen. Give the captain credit for courage, he thought. The man believed into jumping into danger with both feet, eyes wide open.  
“I know you would never behave inappropriately with a subordinate, Captain,” Sholto responded.  
“The question is, would you?” John asked, then stepped forward and pressed a brief kiss to Sholto’s mouth.  
“I always thought you weren’t interested in anybody,” he said, when Sholto didn’t rebuff him. He kissed Sholto again, for a few second longer this time. “But then I caught you looking at my arse. Once might have been a fluke, twice a coincidence. But every day?”  
Sholto groaned, and kissed John back softly before stepping away.  
“I never have,” he said, somewhat incoherently. “Not with a soldier, not on deployment, not on base. I don’t even think about soldiers like that. But you -- I want to. I shouldn’t want to. But I do.”  
John stepped up again, kissed Sholto longer, teased at his mouth with his tongue until the taller man opened for him. He reached up to cup the sides of Sholto’s face, tilting his head slightly for better access. Sholto felt his hands -- those gentle hands -- stroking along his neck, the fingers massaging at his hairline, and splayed his own hands on John’s hips to pull him closer. With their bodies pressed up against one another, he felt John’s erection along his thigh, felt the slight give of John’s abdomen against his length.  
It wasn’t like an encounter with a man met in a bar, Sholto thought. It was far, far better.  
John’s mouth left his and trailed kisses and licks along his jaw and down his neck. Sholto could tell John was being careful not to leave a mark when he pressed his tongue against Sholto’s pulse point, but kept his teeth well out of it.  
“May I?” John asked, as he began unbuttoning Sholto’s shirt and Sholto’s hands drifted from John’s hips to cup his arse.  
Soon enough, John stepped back a little, forcing Sholto to relinquish his grip. John put his hands on Sholto’s belt and gave him an interrogative look. Sholto braced his hands on the desk behind him and nodded.  
When John had opened Sholto’s flies and shoved his trousers and pants around his thighs, he dropped to his knees and looked up at Sholto with the same cheeky grin he’d given weeks before.  
“I never thought I’d get the chance,” he said, the leaned forward to take the head of Sholto’s cock in his mouth, swirling his tongue around before giving it a firm suck.  
John worked Sholto’s cock deeper into his mouth, one hand gripping its base, the other stroking the underside of his bollocks. Sholto knew he wouldn’t last long, and it had only been a few minutes when brought a hand around to tug at John’s hair.  
“Watson!” he hissed urgently. “Captain! I’m going to … “  
John made what Sholto could only classify as a happy noise, bobbed his head up and down on Sholto’s cock, and sucked harder.  
Sholto came with a groan, and John spluttered, a bit of semen escaping onto his chin. John cleaned him with his tongue before wiping his chin with the back of his hand. He looked up through his eyelashes again, looking a little smug, truth be told.  
Sholto extended a hand.  
“Come here,” he said.  
As John rose to his feet, Sholto pulled him closer, then spun around so he was behind John. He crowded against the shorter man, nudging him until John was leaning forward with his hands on the desk.  
“Stay right there, Captain,” Sholto said, reaching around to caress John’s erection through his trousers before unbuckling his belt and unzipping him. He reached inside and took John in hand, spreading the pre-come that dripped from the tip before stroking him firmly. He could see the tension in John’s shoulders as he tried to keep quiet as his orgasm overtook him, splattering semen over Sholto’s hand and onto the surface of the desk.  
Sholto leaned forward and nuzzled his face into John’s neck before reaching for the box of tissues on his desk and wiping up the mess as best he could. Then he tucked John’s softening prick away and did up his trousers.  
“I never thought I would do anything like this,” Sholto breathed into John’s ear. “But I’m glad I did.”  
John turned in Sholto’s arms and whispered back, “I’m glad you did, too, Major.”  
“James,” Sholto said. “Call me James.”  
“Call me Captain,” John deadpanned, giggling at the look on Sholto’s face. “No, I’m kidding. Of course you should call me John.”  
They stood there a few moments longer, Sholto enjoying a closeness he never thought he’d feel with another person. It seemed too soon when John reached up and kissed him softly and said, “As wonderful as this is, I should go. I’ve got an early start tomorrow.”  
Sholto nodded, remembering that John was set to lead a patrol through two of the nearby villages and their surrounding area in the morning. It shouldn’t be too dangerous, Sholto thought, especially for John, who was known in the area for offering medical help when he could.  
“Good night, John,” Sholto said. “I’ll see you when you get back tomorrow afternoon?”

Sholto remembered those words as he dressed for John’s wedding, and again when he saw the man himself, resplendent in a morning suit and smiling up at him. He said something about being “old friends,” a phrase that almost caught in his throat. For one lovely evening, he’d thought he and John could be so much more than that.  
John’s patrol the day after their tryst had gone to shit, his group ambushed by insurgents who had already killed the elders of the village where they were hiding. John was shot through the shoulder as he tried to save one of his men; others were able to pull him behind their vehicle for cover while they radioed for help. John, already unconscious, was evacuated by helicopter. Sholto had not seen him again as he was moved from Bastion to a U.S. military hospital in Germany, and then on to home soil. From what he heard, John wasn’t aware enough to hold a conversation -- much less a private one -- until he was out of the country, and by then he was out of Sholto’s reach. But Sholto had copied his family contact information from his file; he intended to look him up his next leave.  
Sholto never got that far. It was weeks later when his own mission went bad -- his last thought as the chain reaction of explosions went off was that he had to do something about the bloody intel -- and the next thing he knew he was waking up in hospital.  
His left arm no longer worked properly, and the left side of his face and body were covered with scars. He found himself discharged -- officially because of his wounds, but he knew he was being blamed for the disastrous mission. For all he knew, they might be right. He couldn’t think of a single thing he could have done differently, except perhaps refuse the mission based on a pattern of faulty intelligence. But there really hadn’t been a pattern. Just John’s mission, and his. Maybe the gods he didn’t believe in were laughing at their happiness.  
John had emailed a few times, but beyond saying that he was fine, James didn’t respond. He wasn’t the same man he was in Helmand; what did he have to offer John now?  
He hadn’t heard from John for a couple of years when he got John’s wedding invitation, by email, along with a note saying he really hoped to see his former commander. Sholto found he couldn’t refuse. After all, John was getting married. He wouldn’t be asking for things Sholto could no longer give.

**Author's Note:**

> Follow me on [Tumblr!](http://justlookfrightened.tumblr.com)


End file.
